Alright...so, this is a sequel to my very first story - demons I get.
I know it wasn't the most brilliant thing I've ever written, but it kinda called for a sequel - I left the end open, in the hopes of having a real bright idea of how to end it at some point.
Well, I can't promise you a genious thought or brilliant idea, unfortunately, I've been debating with myself if I should even start posting, because, seriously, this is just a while bunch of hurt Dean with a bit of a story wrapped around it... But I've written it - have finished the first couple of chapters already, and there's no use to let them rot on my computer forever, so I thought I'd just dish it out- maybe someone actually likes it, after all.
Basically, I'm posting this first chapter to see if anyone's even still interested in reading in the first place - so please, if you want me to go on, let me know.
So, this is season 3, so of course the deal is mentioned, but I don't think I'm going to spoil much more of the rest of the season. This story is really mostly focusing on what happened to Dean back then, the torture and how he's never told Sam anything about it.
If you haven't read demons I get, I guess it would make sense if you did before reading this...
The short version is, that Dean, then 16 years old, had been taken hostage by a group of tennagers from his school - only humans, and tortured pretty badly. He managed to escape and eventually got to his feet again, but he never went after the kids, never told Sam what really happened to him, either.
I hope I'll be able to tie up some of the lose ends with this sequel - like I've been asked to do by some readers for the past year since finishing the first story. I hope you're at least party satisfied with this version of a show-down...
Also, this first chapter hasn't been beta-ed. Again I wanted to make sure that you even want me to coninue before I go bothering some poor soul with my incoherent ramblings and bad english - because, those of you who haven't guessed it already - english is not my first language, unfortunately, but I'm doing my best to cover it up!
So...not sure I'm doing the right thing here, but here goes the first chapter of Whiplash - please read and let me know what you think...
Dean didn't like splitting up on hunts.
Hell, he'd been the one always going on and on about how important it was to stick together in the first place, so it was kind of contradictory that this time it had been him basically ordering Sam to scout out a location while he himself would take a different one, one as far away from Sam as he could find.
Or rather, find one for Sam that was as far away from the one Dean had focused on.
Sure, Sam had looked at him funny, but for once he hadn't said anything, hadn't given Dean some smart-ass lecture on contradicting his own rules or something the like. As a matter of fact, he'd taken it far too willingly, like he really couldn't get away from his big brother fast enough. Which was definitely not true, Dean knew that. He knew it because Sam was the one practically clinging to Dean's leg, never letting him out of his sight, never letting him do anything by himself anymore.
Always looking at him with that crease in the middle of his forehead, too, the slightly mental eyes… Dean really was afraid that one of these days Sam would just downright start bawling on him – or worse, force-hug him or something, and that prospect did nothing to set Dean's mind at ease any.
Sam couldn't go soft on him now of all times…well, alright, it might have been a little too late for that…but he couldn't afford getting even softer than he already was. Sam needed to toughen up – Dean was trying to tell the kid that forever, but especially now…
But maybe Sam did need some time on his own for a change, just a couple of hours to unwind, to not think about the deal anymore, about Dean going to hell – for Sam…
Well, Dean wasn't going to go there today – neither literally nor was he going to delve into the topic, punching himself out of order in the process - he sure wasn't going to get all emo over it now of all times. He had more important things on his mind. And maybe it was best for Sam to be out of sight for a while to just think about something else but a way to save Dean from going to the pit.
But Dean had to admit that this now – this hunt, splitting up, had very little to do with making it easy on Sam. Dean knew he was a bastard for it, but just this once he had set out just for himself. Something that he couldn't share with Sam, no matter what. Something that Sam would never know about, if it was up to Dean - and if everything went as planned.
The trees were pretty dense in these parts of the woods and Dean took off his canvas-jacket, slinging it around his hips. The terrain was rough and mostly uphill from where they'd parked the Impala in the secluded parking lot of a run down picnic area. Dean had chosen to leave his car there because it was closer to where Sam would be looking into an abandoned hut somewhere deep in the woods and farther away from Dean's object of interest.
They'd found a strange string of mauling in these parts of the woods through one of the websites they used to find out about cases that were their kind of strange. All it had taken for Dean was reading the name of the town and he'd been in. Sam had been a little surprised at Dean's immediate willingness to drive all across the best part of three states to check out something that could very well be a "regular" serial killer, or even wild animal attacks, but in the end he'd barely even lifted an eyebrow and shrugged his consent.
Right now, they were back to Sam doing everything to keep Dean happy. Going along with so many hilarious things Dean suggested, it was almost pitiful. Not that he'd take advantage of the situation… But Dean knew, he just knew that it wouldn't last, that before long Sam would be back to being his old brooding and resentful self - determined to find a way to get Dean out of the deal, to put everything else aside to accomplish this one, monumental task. And Dean planned on making the best out of the time till that happened. He'd think about a way to stop or slow Sam down when the time came.
Now they were here, in the middle of nowhere/Montana, and as far as Dean could tell Sam didn't remember this town or ever being here before for that matter. Which was fine with Dean. He'd taken extra precautions to choose a different motel, trying not to drive by the school or other places Sam might have recognized - even though he was pretty sure that Sam wouldn't remember anyway.
It had been close to 13 years ago – give or take – and they'd been through about two dozen different schools after, number of motels and apartments they stayed in since close to uncountable. To Sam, most likely, it had been one town of a string of anonymous ones while growing up, so this particular one would barely stand out among them – despite everything that had happened.
Dean was ripped out of his thoughts as he stumbled, his foot catching on a root, almost sending him sprawling. He caught himself against the trunk of a tree just in time, stopping to catch his breath for a second, working hard on keeping his breathing even.
For a second there – for just a second…
No, no, there was nothing. Nothing. He was fine – needed to move on. So Dean pushed himself back to his feet and walked on.
Another 20 minutes of hiking through the damn bush later he finally came to a road. It was barely recognizable as one anymore, the years having taken off most of the tiny stones that the way had been covered with back then. Grass and all kinds of other fauna were sprouting all over the place now, obscuring the road to anyone who did not know that it had once been there.
Again, Dean stopped, took a deep breath.
He felt himself falling, stumbling outside, losing his equilibrium. Tiny sharp pebbles cut into the soles of his feet, suffocating dark obliterating his vision all of a sudden, the sharp pull of broken ribs crushing his chest, burning slash-marks on his bare back…
Again Dean stumbled, hitting the ground hard, his knees scraping over the stones, catching himself with his hands before face-planting.
Fuck…how was this even possible?
He blinked his eyes back into focus, taken aback by the fact that they'd been out of focus in the first place, found himself kneeling in the middle of the old road, head down between his shoulder, chin tucked against his chest. His breathing was ragged, forced, burning in lungs that seemed to be starved beyond belief.
But his hands were free - in front of him and unbound. His mouth open, his eyes too. Dean blinked rapidly a couple of times, his vision clearing as sweat that had soaked into his eyes fanned off his heavy lashes, dripping from the tip of his nose and chin. This was it – had to be it - the path that led to the hall or shack or building where he'd been…that he'd escaped from.
Blindfolded and tied up and beaten half to death. More dead than alive, as a matter of fact, according to what the doctors and his father had told him back then. And still he'd made it back. He'd fucking walked out of there and had made it back. Had taken him a while, sure, had taken almost more than he'd been able to give, but he'd made it.
And he wasn't going to be breaking apart now, of all times.
There were worse things he was facing now – worse things than memories of something he fucked up royally many, many years ago. He had a future to worry about, or rather - eternity in hell, whatever.
So this - was not going to break him.
He wouldn't let it.
He cast a quick look around, just to make sure that nobody had witnessed his little…loss of control, then pushed himself back to his feet, ran a slightly shaky hand through his hair and over his face before starting to walk towards his right – towards the direction of the house. He squared his shoulders, put determination in his step that he really did feel – he really did. Because this time, he was not going to back down, was not going to be weak. This time, if it turned out to be who he thought it was, he'd not let them get away with it.
Humans or not, they deserved to be punished for what they'd done.
For what they'd done to those people that had disappeared in those woods during the past months only to be found mauled and slashed and cut open a couple of days later. Their wrists marked by what looked like the burn of ropes, their backs slashed open by an unknown weapon. The remnants of gags and blindfolds still visible their skin in places, even though it couldn't be proven, so the police had explained it away – too embarrassed to admit that they had no idea who or what had done this. Their bodies ripped to shreds by animals, destroying what little evidence had been there when being discarded like pieces of meat in the middle of the forest. Dead.
Those freaking monsters deserved to be punished for what they'd done…to all these innocent victims. And maybe even for what they'd done to Dean.
With that resolution Dean straightened up even more, reached for his gun and pulled it out from the hem of his jeans against the small of his back, the weapon weighing comfortably in his palm, calming him down immediately.
He'd exchanged those with the silver ones the gun had been loaded with before, after Sam and he had split up, so the kid wouldn't see and get the idea to ask any questions. Not that silver bullets wouldn't have worked, but he really didn't want to waste those on human waste like he thought, no knew he'd encounter.
Ten more steps and Dean rounded a bend in the path and the beaten down structure that held some of his worst memories came into view.
He'd thought that the mere sight of it would make him nauseous, the memory of what happened there too fresh still in his mind, even after all these years, but in reality, there was nothing. Nothing like his little breakdown only a couple of minutes ago. No flicker of recognition, no breaking down or starting to sweat, his heartbeat staying perfectly normal. Normal after a hike through the forest, that was. Normal after almost spacing out from just stepping onto a fucking regular overgrown path.
Well, it wasn't as if he'd ever really seen the place he'd been held in…most of his memories, his nightmares reduced to the feeling of things, sounds, smells – pain.
He felt better now, stronger. He could do this. End it and go back to…well, normal. Whatever the hell that meant lately. He'd end this and go spend some more time with Sam, preferably, hang out at Bobby's for a while, kill as many monsters as possible, bang as many girls as he could get his hands on. To make the most of it.
But first things first.
Dean kept to the side of the road, close to the bushes and trees walking slowly but confidently towards the beat down structure at the end of the path.
It looked…smaller than he'd expected, more dilapidated. Well, it had been 13 years, but still… even now, actually looking at it, he had no idea what the building had been intended for, originally. It looked almost like a warehouse in miniature form, only that it wouldn't make much sense to built something like this into the middle of the forest. Maybe it had been used for storage – that actually made the most sense to Dean right at the moment. To store what exactly didn't really matter, in the end. Right now all it held were bad memories, but it wouldn't for much longer.
There were no windows anywhere all around the building, at least not at ground level. As he rounded the structure Dean made out a string of small, narrow openings around the top of the building, about 15 feet up, right underneath the by now partially caved in roof. The glass, if there ever had been any, long since smashed out by wind and weather and probably stones thrown by teenagers making out and partying here.
Back in front, where the only entrance and exit of the building seemed to be, Dean tested the door carefully but found it unlocked, opening out towards him.
To his immense surprise, the door actually gave in to his weight, swinging outwards and Dean tumbled with it, hitting the ground hard. He cried out, his body trembling in agony.
At least, he was outside.
Dean basically jerked back, his hand snapping away from the door as if it had been burned.
Goddamnit. Where the hell did the flashbacks come from all of a sudden? He always thought that things like that, that physically feel-able flashbacks were something that only existed in movies, but this right now… He'd smelled it, felt it… It was a memory he didn't even know he had, certainly not one of those that had been plaguing him in his sleep for weeks and months after he'd gotten out, back to safety. Those had been even worse.
Dean shifted uncomfortably, adjusting his hold on the gun while wiping his sweating left hand on his jeans.
Don't even think about it. Just get in and get it done…
The first step in, against everything he'd have thought, didn't trigger anything. He'd been prepared, almost, for something else, another flashback, another travel back in time but there was nothing. Nothing but a fairly large room (it looked larger from the inside than from the outside) that was bare except for some beams crossing the room about 2/3rds up towards the ceiling.
Dean frowned at that, chose not to look too closely.
He knew what those had been used for without any time travel in his head, unfortunately.
So, focus and move.
There wasn't much worth checking out inside. The room was devoid of any nooks and crannies, there were no other doors or corners to be rounded, no furniture or machinery whatsoever.
All was empty except for some ominous dark stains on the far end of the room, opposite the door he'd just entered through. But again, no recognition, just a sharp churning motion in his stomach that almost made him throw up his dinner all over said stains, add his own signature to it.
That had to be where the bodies had been…mauled. None of the victims had been found here, though, all of them found somewhere in the forest, always smack in the middle of some kind of road, a parking lot, a picnic area. All of the quite a distance away from here – ground zero – almost like Dean, after he'd made his way out of the forest, to finally break down in the middle of a road, almost getting run over by a car in the process. But he'd been saved – had been found. Just like the bodies had been found, only that there'd been no way to save them anymore.
Most of the recent vics had been bled out, some already feasted on by scavengers, so the suspicious lack of blood on the supposed crime scene hadn't really bothered the authorities, apparently. It had bothered Sam and Dean. Because they knew - or at least Dean knew, Sam only thought he did.
Sam had thought Wendigo, right from the start. Everything pointed right to it, the rope-marks, the dismemberments. Only that the last Wendigo they'd encountered had eaten the victims – head to toe – only left behind the bones. This one apparently left whole body-parts behind. What to the authorities had been wild animals ripping the bodies to shreds, Sam had seen as the wendigo eating only "special" body-parts, scorning the rest and leaving it behind. Not that that was a "normal" MO, but then again – what did they know, really. "Normal" so far off the scale in most everything they did…
Once Dean was certain that the room indeed was empty, he lowered his gun, stood there thinking. He closed his eyes, let his chin drop to his chest and just waited, breathing, smelling…hearing…
He was sitting on the floor now, back resting against the wall he probably had been smashed against.
It took him a few moments to clear his head, but as soon as he had, he struggled to sit up straighter, wincing as his bruised side sent jolts of pain through his body.
His mouth was free now, and he greedily sucked in a deep breath, only to regret it again a second later when his side insistently reminded him that he should better not move too much. The kicks to his body stopped. He could hear them laughing again, voices all around him, teasing him.
What confused him the most was the fact that even though he could now breathe more or less freely, he still couldn't see. Something was still covering his eyes, something far tighter, far more confining, sticking closely to his skin.
He turned his head, tried to rub the thing off on his arms, panic coming back with a snap. He hated the darkness, hated confinement, feared the helplessness. His breathing came in quick, heaving gulps he was unable to control and he felt big beads of cold sweat starting to roll down his face.
A voice suddenly came from only inches away, startling him.
"Now, now, look who's awake…"
Dean tore his eyes open, the room tilting dangerously around the edges of his vision and he swayed on his feet, put out an arm to steady himself.
This was new, it was definitely something new altogether. And he needed to stop it. Needed to get a grip, goddamnit. He knew how to do this, he had plenty of experience.
Just recently, he'd been pretty damn good at repressing the thought of going to hell…right? Well, maybe not entirely, 100% successful, but pretty damn close, most of the time. Deceiving Sam – and himself – that he'd always known how to handle.
Dean rolled his shoulders, took a deep breath, wiping sweat out of his eyes with his left while keeping a death-grip on the gun with the right.
He looked around once more, his gaze again settling on the beams around the room, the one above the far wall. He could make out grooves in the wood if he looked real close, as if something had been fixed there, something hanging from them, something heavy. Something fighting nail and teeth to get away, scraping the wood from the beam, splintering and sawing it off. Only not quite succeeding…
Suddenly, a strong jolt went through his body, his arms were pulled upwards, his body being hauled off the floor.
The joints and sinews in his elbows and shoulders screamed out in protest and he instinctively struggled to pull his legs underneath his body to take the weight off his arms. The bonds were cutting deeply into his wrists and already he could feel warm blood trickling down his arms.
"Alright, enough already with the flashbacks…" Dean growled, practically panting as he oriented himself in the here and now again.
He rubbed a weary hand over his face viciously, felt the day old stubble on his cheek scrape over the skin of his palm, remembering that this morning he'd simply refused to shave – for the manly look – that's what he'd told Sammy. In reality, he'd simply been too tired and grumpy after a night of too little and not at all peaceful sleep.
Which, of course, Sam probably noticed, but had chosen to ignore, at least for today. He probably thought that it was thoughts about hell plaguing him…and he might have been right about it, too. Only, for the last couple of nights it had been a completely different kind of hell that had captured and held him close like a hungry lover.
A hell that mere humans had subjected him too.
Which somehow only made it even worse.
Alright, so the room or house or shack was empty. Well, Dean hadn't exactly expected them to sit here and wait for him to come to them, now had he? Only, it would have been kinda nice, would have made things a whole lot easier. Preferably, they'd be smeared with the victims blood, their fingerprints all over the place, a new victim just about to be killed fresh but still alive in their hands. A hot, female victim – no, scratch that – a hot, female, thankful victim. One, that would show how thankful she was for being saved, once they were out of here and back at the cabin…
Hell, yeah, like that ever happened. This wasn't a movie, unfortunately. Things never went smoothly, why should his luck start showing up now, all of a sudden?
So, all he could do, really, was wait and see. He had no idea, of course, if they'd even come back tonight, had no idea on what kind of sick schedule they operated as of late.
Back then, with him…not that he'd had any idea why exactly they'd done what they'd done, but for some reason he'd always told himself that there had to have been a reason, however sick and twisted, but surely there had to have been some kind of reason to their action. Even fucking monsters had a motivation for whatever madness they were dishing out, after all.
But, yeah, wasn't like he didn't know already…humans, unfortunately, were way below monsters and ghouls in so many more ways than one. Plus, they were protected by law. The unfairness of it all still baffled Dean, on more occasion than one, but then again…he had no right to judge… He had no right…the number of laws he himself had broken in his life so far were pretty impressive to say the least – so was he really all that much better than them?
Yes, yes he was. He was. He didn't torture other humans just for the kicks of it, didn't enjoy the bloodshed and violence he was forced to dish out most of the time. It was his job – he was helping people. Saving people. He was not them.
This was just way too fucked up for Dean to contemplate, it really was.
Back then, he'd had reasons for not wanting to go after those fucking punks that had done this to him. He had pretty damn good reason, or so he'd told himself. It had made perfect sense, he'd spent hours and weeks and months to convince himself of it - and had come to believe it, in the end. Besides, it had just been him, right? They'd chosen him, and however wrong and fucked up that was, it was still not entirely…unjustified. He'd told himself over and over again that as long as they didn't go after anyone else…it was alright. Maybe not alright but, you know, alright…somehow. At least it wasn't some innocent person involved.
And Dean had kept taps on them, just like he'd promised Janie he would, had made sure they didn't step out of line again. Dean also had a distinct feeling that his dad had not quite stuck to his promise of not going after the punks himself…Dean couldn't really put a finger to it, couldn't prove anything, but the way those guys had stayed so completely off the radar, in every way possible, was kinda suspicious.
Up until now, that was. Why they'd chose to wait more than a century before picking up on their old habits again, Dean didn't know – didn't care to know. Maybe Dean had missed something – had gotten lazy and now look what had come of it… All he knew is that he was going to stop it, once and for all.
A sound behind him stopped his thoughts so suddenly, he basically froze. For one second, the world stopped spinning. It was nothing more then the rustle of air, a slight wisp of breath ghosting over the back of his neck, making the fine hair there rise up, fighting for standing room. Maybe it wasn't even a sound or perception of the physical kind, after all, maybe it was just the thought, the feeling.
But it was enough to send him into action.
Unfortunately, he wasn't fast enough.
He ducked and started to spin around, bringing his gun-arm up in one swift motion but never made it all the way.
Pain suddenly exploded in his temple, washing over him in one swift, smooth motion, sending him tumbling into blackness before he ever even get a glimpse of his attacker.
Alright- not sure I'm ready for it, but please let me know if I should go on or not.
Also, those of you who've enjoyed my previous stories and now find this weird or whatever- please don't give up on me and just wait this one out - and maybe give me another chance - pretty please?!
Alright, thanks to you all for reading - and if you want to you'll hear from me again soon!